


Discordant Music

by afteriwake



Series: nongentorum [43]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Minor Mary Morstan/John Watson, Musicians, POV Molly Hooper, Poor Molly, Pre-Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, Sherlock Apologizes, Sherlock Being an Asshole, String Quartet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 21:19:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7861531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly Hooper has no idea why the newest member of the string quartet seems so dislikeable. After they have a small spat at a gig, however, they come to a better understanding of each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discordant Music

**Author's Note:**

  * For [an_elegant_chaos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_elegant_chaos/gifts), [Amberowl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amberowl/gifts).



> So this fic I wrote with the possible intention of adding more to it as a series (though I'm not sure). It was inspired by an AU prompt by **an_elegant_chaos** that went " _we're playing in the same music quartet and you keep glaring at me from across the set-up and I don't know why_ " (though I tweaked it slightly). A while ago it was claimed by **Amberowl** on one of my many Sherlolly prompt claims, so now that I finally got around to writing it for Day 2 of Molly Appreciation Week (In My Wildest Dreams), they get surprise fic! Yay!

“I can be flexible. As long as everything is exactly the way I want it, I’m totally flexible.”

Molly Hooper sighed at the inane statement from the new violinist. She didn’t understand what his problem was. It wasn’t as though she, Mary Morstan and John Watson hadn’t been though this piece about nine hundred times before. They knew what they were doing. But Sherlock Holmes wanted everything to be _perfect_. He demanded perfection at every turn and it was grating on her last nerve. And statements like that just made her want to snap.

“That’s sort of the antithesis of flexible,” Mary said with a wry grin as she set up her music stand. “Look, we’ve done this loads of times before. We’ve got it covered. _Relax_.”

“I just want it to be--” Sherlock began.

“Perfect, we know,” John said, rolling his eyes. “It will be. We’re damn good at this. We were before you joined up with us, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” Sherlock said, his tone a little injured, as though he didn’t take well to the chastisement. Well, it served him right. She only did this part time, as a way to earn extra money to get through uni, but she loved playing the cello, had almost since she was introduced to the instrument by her father when she was seven. She’d played all throughout school anytime she could, and even when her father was sick she’d played. It had been her father’s dying wish that she get into the Royal Academy of Music, and when he died she did everything she could to achieve that goal, and she was pleased to say she made it.

When her roommate Mary had suggested that she join up with her boyfriend John and his friend Mike Stamford to form a string quartet to do off-campus gigs, she’d leapt at the chance to do so. But soon Mike had become unreliable and they’d needed to find another violinist, and the only one with the needed combination of skill and availability was Sherlock, who was more of a prat than it was worth, it seemed. As handsome as he was once he opened his mouth most of the time she wanted to sock him.

And right now he was glaring at her as they continued to set up for the wedding they’d been hired for. She already felt self-conscious because it was quite the dressy affair and she hadn’t had anything really _fancy_ for the event so she’d scraped together the last of her money that she could and borrowed a few things from friends and put together something she thought looked suitable, and here he was glaring. Finally, she’d had enough. “Yes, Sherlock?” she asked.

“Your hair doesn’t look right,” he said.

She looked at him, her mouth agape, and then shook her head. She felt tears prick the back of her eyes and damn it all, she didn’t want to cry. “Well, it’s just too damn bad,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry I’m not perfect.” She reached up and carefully wiped her eyes with the back of her hand before finishing setting up, and when she next glanced at Sherlock she saw he had a curious look on his face. But there wasn’t time to think about it; they had to be professionals so it was time to put on a professional face and go to work.

The wedding felt like it dragged on forever, but she knew it hadn’t. Soon enough the bride and groom and the wedding party and all the guests left the church and they were free to pack up their things. John and Mary were being rather icy towards Sherlock, avoiding speaking to him, and Sherlock himself was being subdued and quiet, which was rather unusual for him. When they were done, Mary and John offered to give Molly a lift back to campus but Molly declined, saying she needed to take a walk, so they took her cello back instead. It was with great surprise a moment later when Sherlock spoke. “May I join you?” he asked.

“Why?” she asked, her tone a bit colder than she had expected it to be.

“I want to apologize, I suppose. And explain,” he said.

She thought for a moment. “I guess,” she said. She turned and began to leave the church, and he fell in step beside her.

“I was an arse,” he said once they left the church. “My whole life I’ve been told everything has to be perfect. I have to be perfect and I have to demand perfection from others. And normally people give it to me, even if they complain. But I’ve never actually seen...I mean, I’ve never hurt anyone before, that I’ve seen. I’ve never made anyone cry. And I felt like...”

“Shite?” Molly said.

He nodded. “Yeah. I don’t act like I have feelings, but I do.” He looked down for a moment. “You’re a brilliant cellist. The best I’ve ever heard. Even better than Pablo Casals.”

“Really?” she said, stopping.

He nodded and looked over at her. “Yeah.”

She gave him a warm smile. “Well, you’re an amazing violinist. I bet you’ll be even more famous than Itzhak Perlman.”

“You really think so?” Sherlock said, grinning back.

She nodded. “I do.” After a moment she reached over for his free hand and took it. “I really do.”


End file.
